


Repentence

by StormyDaze



Series: What Needs Must [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Clitoridectomy, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Father/Daughter Incest, First time having sex after clitoridectomy, Flashbacks to Underage Noncon, Flesh and Steel!Emily, High Chaos!Corvo, Incest, Orgasm Denial, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Villain Death, infibulation, vaginal orgasm, vine tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/pseuds/StormyDaze
Summary: Emily goes up against Delilah, and then deals with the aftermath.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Emily Kaldwin, Delilah Copperspoon/Emily Kaldwin
Series: What Needs Must [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119929
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FelixPhial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelixPhial/gifts).



Emily was so close.

That’s all she can think, now, as Delilah’s vines wrap around her and hold her suspended above the ruined floor of her throne room. She hates that she’s come this far only to fail now. Meagan, Sokolov, Byrne… they’ve all invested so much in her, and she’s failed them.

She struggles vainly against the vines that bind her. If she can just get an arm free, maybe… Her sword and gun are on the ground, but there’s a grenade in her pocket that she might be able to reach.

Delilah laughs, clearly enjoying watching Emily struggle. “I wonder what you’ve got hidden under those clothes, Princess,” she says, smirking. “Let’s show you off, hm?”

The vines are surprisingly dextrous. They grip and tear at her clothing like human hands until the scraps fall loose to the ground. Emily tries not to squirm. She doesn’t want to give Delilah the satisfaction.

The vines feel… odd on her bare skin. The have an uneven, sort of ridged texture to them. It’s… not wholly unpleasant.

Byrne’s ritual was supposed to cleanse her of this tendency toward hedonism. Maybe it didn’t work. Maybe that’s why Delilah was able to defeat her. Maybe there is something irredeemably wrong with her, and that’s why she’s failed so monstrously.

No time for self-recrimination. She has to _think._ But it’s hard to do so when the vines are touching her _everywhere._

A vine curls around one breast, teasing her nipple until it hardens into a stiff peak. Emily bites her lip to hold back a moan. She won’t give Delilah the satisfaction. But it seems like it’s been forever since she’s had any sort of pleasure, although really it’s only been a couple of weeks since Byrne’s ritual, and the frustration has been bubbling under her skin. She’s managed to push it back by focusing on the task at hand, but now, with her body being touched like this, she can’t ignore it any longer.

Vines creep up her thighs, stroking the soft skin there. One gently wraps around her belly. A particularly thick one twists around her throat, not cutting off her breath, but the threat is there. She thinks that maybe she wants it to. She’s always liked sex a little rough, and Wyman is always so gentle.

The vines twist her onto her back and spread her legs apart, showing her off for Delilah. Emily yelps and tries to squeeze her legs together, but she’s not strong enough to fight Delilah’s magic. The scar where her cunt used to be is on full display.

“What’s this?” Delilah asks. “Now what have you gone and done to yourself now, you foolish girl?”

The tip of one thin vine prods at the tiny hole remaining. Emily squirms. It’s not the feeling she’s used to, with all her most sensitive flesh cut away, and it burns as even the small vine stretches the taut skin, but it’s not entirely devoid of sensation. The vine begins to inch in and out, fucking the tiny hole in a parody of the acts Emily engaged in before Byrne’s ritual.

She wants it. She wants it to force itself inside her, to fill her up. She feels so empty, not having had anything, not even her fingers, inside her for weeks. She rocks her hips as much as the vines binding her will allow, trying to force herself down on the little one stretching out her tiny hole.

Delilah laughs, sharp as a whip. “You’re just begging for it, aren’t you?” she sneers. “Regretting your choices, now that you remember what you’re missing?

“Did you go to the Abbey? I’ve never heard of anyone else in the Empire that would perform such a barbaric practice. And on a former Empress, no less! What did they tell you would happen? Oh, I know. I bet they promised to make you pure and strong, is that it? Did you think mutilating yourself would help you fight me?” Delilah laughs again.

Emily flushes. Byrne promised! He’d sounded so convincing through the haze of the drugged tea. Now, in the cold dusk, with Delilah’s laugh like a knife in her ear, Emily feels stupid and ashamed.

“What should I do with you?” Delilah muses, tapping her chin with one finger. “Should I cut you open again, fuck you hard with pretty red blood running down those pale thighs? Oh, you’d look such a treat, like a painting.”

“Please,” Emily gasps. She can’t quite convince herself that she means _please, no._

“No, you’d enjoy that too much,” Delilah says. “I want you to suffer. I want to bring you to the brink and watch you writhe in desperation, unfulfilled. And the other option is always available later, if you’re very, _very_ good.”

The vines flip Emily over onto her stomach and tug her knees up to her chest. The one that was worming its way into her cunt pulls out to trace the pucker of her asshole instead. “Have you ever been fucked here?” Delilah says. “I bet you’ll love it.”

She hasn’t, properly. Wyman loves her cunt. She’s teased the rim with her fingers while she masturbates, but grinding hard against her clit was always a bigger priority. It’s not an option now. And the gentle, feather-light touch of the vine around her hole is tantalizing.

“Yes, that’s it,” Delilah says. She pushes the tip of the vine inside Emily, twisting and pulsing it to tease Emily’s rim. It’s slick with the juices from her cunt, which Emily can feel dribbling out of the small hole. Emily clenches up around the vine and then forces herself to relax. Those vines could do some serious damage, and she knows Delilah won’t hesitate to do so. She doesn’t need to make it easier for Delilah to make her bleed.

The vine pushes farther inside. It’s not the same as something stretching out her cunt, but it still feels so good to be filled so full.

The vine invades her ass, stretching her out until her hole burns. The texture of it is like nothing she’s ever had inside her before. The ribs on it seem to reach places she never thought she could be touched, setting every nerve on fire. The other vines, the ones tangled around her arms and legs and breasts, begin to writhe, stroking the sensitive skin of her wrists, behind her knees, her belly, her thighs. Emily’s attention fractures. She can’t focus on anything, there’s so much sensation enveloping her on all sides.

The vine in her ass withdraws, and Emily clenches hard, desperately trying to keep it in place. It obliges her by thrusting back in, quick and hard, no gentleness to be had. It begins to fuck her, pounding into her, and she swears she can feel it rearranging her insides, pressing her stomach up into her ribs. The feeling drives her wild. There’s a tingling warmth behind her scar, deep in her cunt, like perhaps Byrne didn’t excise everything that can bring her pleasure. She wants to stick her fingers inside, to rub hard on that spot and make herself come, but of course she can’t. So instead she thrashes in frustration, oversensitive and needy, pushed to her limits and entirely at Delilah’s mercy.

She’s never wanted to kill Delilah more than this.

She falls down a well of sensation, trapped deep in her own unsatisfactory body, and isn’t sure how much time passes. Eventually Delilah must tire of tormenting her.

“Let’s see if we can make you useful after all,” Delilah says. “Have you ever eaten pussy before? I’m _so_ wet right now, even your talentless tongue should have no problem making me come!”

She drops Emily hard on the stone floor. Emily can’t work up the strength to move. Her body feels weak, all of her muscles turned to water.

Delilah stands over her, one foot planted on either side of Emily’s head. She shimmies her pants down to her ankles and squats down over Emily. “Now be a good girl, or I’ll really make you regret it,” she warns. And then she tangles her fingers in Emily’s short hair and sits on her face.

Emily wants to choke on the smell of her. It’s thick and sweet, like a rotting, poisonous flower. Delilah wasn’t lying; her juice drips onto Emily’s face before Emily has even touched her. The frustration within Emily turns to fury. She wants to bite Delilah, wants to tear her flesh with her teeth. Let Delilah see what Emily endured at Byrne’s hands for a chance of defeating her.

But she has to be smart. Her father is always imploring her to _think,_ not just act. So Emily opens her mouth and licks Delilah’s cunt. Delilah moans and Emily tries not to think about how she’ll never again get to feel what Delilah is feeling right now. It only makes her blood boil more.

Meanwhile, her hand scrabbles on the hard floor.

Delilah sinks down further, cutting off Emily’s breath, but she’s learned to hold it after all the swimming she’s been doing. She forces her heart rate to slow as she concentrates on how to move her mouth just so to make Delilah buck and clench. She alternates sucking on her clit and fucking her with her tongue, her head going light from lack of air, until she feels Delilah shudder and squeeze Emily’s head with her thighs.

Emily’s fingers find what they’re looking for. She jams the barrel of the gun into Delilah’s ribs and empties the entire clip.


	2. Chapter 2

Emily presses her hand to her father’s cheek and color spreads across the cold stone like flame to paper. And then his arms are wrapped around her and she never wants to be anywhere else.

When she’s finished explaining everything he’s missed, all the energy seems to go out of her. Her body feels limp and heavy, like a sack of potatoes. She leans her head on Corvo’s shoulder.

She managed to scavenge up a shirt and pants, probably belonging to one of Delilah’s witches, before she revived her father, but they smell less than pleasant and have a sort of gritty texture. Emily doesn’t understand why anyone would have all that power and insist on living in filth. Did a bathtub kill Delilah’s mother too?

Emily contemplates how long it’s going to take just to clean up the rotting food strewn about, not to mention repairing everything that’s been damaged, and wants to weep. She wants a hot bath, she wants a bed more than two feet wide, and she wants to never let go of her father’s arm. She wants him to hold her like he did when she was a little girl.

Or maybe not _quite_ like that. Damn, she’s still horny as fuck.

Corvo picks up on her exhaustion, if not her other feelings. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and into your bed,” he says.

Alexis, dying in her arms. Emily wants to vomit. “Can I stay in your room?” she asks. She hasn’t slept in Corvo’s room since she was a child. Her nightmares were terrible for years after her mother died.

Corvo’s suite, like the rest of the tower, is trashed. They scoop up as much of the rotting food as they can and find some relatively clean sheets buried forgotten in a closet to put on the bed. The bathtub is mercifully unmolested, and Emily soaks until her bones feel like they’ve melted.

She dries off and creeps back into the bedroom, still wrapped in the towel. Corvo watches her from where he sits on the bed.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. “Let me see.”

She’s never been body-shy around Corvo. He’s patched her up after enough training injuries to cure her of that. And some of the training was… intimate.

_“Never underestimate your enemy,” Corvo says in her ear. It doesn’t sound like her father’s voice. This is the voice of the killer who tore through Burrows’ men like wet paper. “If their imagination is better than yours, you’re dead.”_

_Emily is sixteen, blindfolded and tied to a chair. The aim of the game is simple: don’t give up the secret, no matter what Corvo does. The secret changes every time, dozens of meaningless phrases Callista writes up on scraps of paper. Emily suspects Callista doesn’t know exactly what Corvo does with them. This time, the secret is “Her Majesty’s flowers are red.”_

_Emily is braced for pain. They’ve played this game before. Sokolov’s elixirs heal a lot of wounds._

_The pain doesn’t come. Large hands unfasten her pants, tug them down over her ass and around her knees with an ease that seems impossible with her position._

_Emily gasps. “What are you doing?”_

_Of course Corvo doesn’t answer. He’s not much for talking, in the best of times, and when he slips into becoming the killer, he only speaks to impart vitally important wisdom. He doesn’t share training plans._

_A thumb strokes down Emily’s pubic bone and expertly finds her clitoris. No one but her has ever touched her there. The touch lights up her nerves, and her stomach feels queasy. Has he seen her looking at him? Does he know what she thinks about when she touches herself at night, the sick thoughts that drive her mad in the privacy of her own mind? She flinches back into the chair, but of course gets nowhere._

_Corvo presses his thumb hard into her clit, rubbing small circles. It hurts; he’s making no attempt to be gentle. That doesn’t stop warmth from forming a tight little ball deep in her abdomen, though._

_“Tell me the secret.”_

_“Fuck you.” Unlike Callista, Corvo never minds her filthy mouth. She thinks it amuses him, most days. He’s not laughing now._

_He twists his hands and roughly shoves two fingers into her cunt. Emily feels tears prickle in her eyes. At least Corvo won’t be able to see them, under the blindfold._

_Now that the shock has worn away, Emily is able to compartmentalize. It’s just torture, like any other. She’s dealt with it before. Her body is a tool to keep her mind alive. She doesn’t feel violated. She doesn’t feel shamed, that her body is responding to her father’s touch. He doesn’t know. It’s just a training exercise to him. She repeats these things to herself like a mantra._

_Corvo pumps his fingers in and out of her cunt. It burns, stretching her too wide too soon. She breathes through her nose._

_“You know how to make this stop,” Corvo says. “Tell me the secret.”_

_She opens her mouth to swear again, but her words turn into an inarticulate cry as Corvo twists his fingers and hits a sensitive spot inside her. Combined with his thumb on her clit, a shock of pleasure goes through her._

_She doesn’t want to enjoy this._

_He fucks her with his fingers, as brutal and precise as when he spars with his sword. Whimpers and cries spill from Emily’s lips; Corvo has never expected her to suffer in silence._ Whatever you have to do to get through it, _he said._

_She can feel herself on the brink of orgasm. She has no doubt that Corvo will keep fingering her after she comes, a painful mess of overstimulation for however long it takes to break her._

_She doesn’t want him to watch her fall apart on his fingers. Will he be more disappointed if she gives up the secret, or if he finds out how much she likes it?_

_He’s always been tolerant about failures while training. He drills her relentlessly until she is flawless, but dispassionately. Failure just means trying again._

_A part of her wants to try again._

_“Her Majesty’s flowers are red,” she spits out between clenched teeth, but she’s too late. Her orgasm washes over her and she clenches tight around her father’s hand, bucking her hips, grinding against his fingers as she rides out the orgasm. For a few moments she floats on a heady mixture of pain and bliss._

_She comes back to herself to the feeling of her father untying her, tugging the blindfold off her face. And then she’s crying, unable to stop, her body violently rejecting the experience._

_Corvo pulls her into his arms and holds her until she gets herself under control. “We’ll try again next week,” he says._

Emily comes back to herself with a start when her father puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her down onto the bed. She peels off the towel and lets him look her over.

She’s pretty banged up. There’s a blossoming patch of purple on her hip where Delilah crashed her into the stone floor, and the vines have left raw red marks on her wrists and ankles. A split lip, and various other scratches and bruises from her scuffles with the witches, but nothing too serious.

And her ass burning so much she can barely sit, but she’s not going to mention that.

Corvo reaches out and runs his hand over her ribs, checking for breaks. Emily’s breath catches. The last time anyone touched her gently was Byrne. The time before that… she can’t remember.

If Emily is totally, completely honest with herself, she’s been in love with Corvo since he rescued her from the Golden Cat. She was a scared, hurting child on the brink of puberty, and he charged in to rescue her like her own white knight. By the time she found out he was her father, she’d grown up enough to realize that nothing could ever come of it anyway. It hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal. Her illusions of normalcy shattered when her mother died.

She’s not that scared child anymore, but she’s restless and desperate and still unsatisfied from being fucked by Delilah. She’s been through hell. She throws caution to the wind.

She leans into the touch and sighs, letting her eyes go heavy-lidded. Corvo freezes, his hand still on her body. Through her eyelashes, she sees his pupils are wide and dark.

“You’re so much like your mother,” he says softly.

Slowly, telegraphing her every move, Emily leans forward and crawls into his lap. Corvo remains frozen. She spreads her legs, one knee on either side of his hips, and places her arms on his shoulders. Corvo stays still, watching her, nothing moving but the slightest rise and fall of his chest. She cups her hand to his jaw, like she did when she turned him from stone back to flesh, and kisses him.

For a moment she might as well be kissing the stone statue, but then he kisses her back, opening his mouth up for her to explore with her tongue. His hands slide down her sides to cup her ass, fingers digging into the flesh, and she grinds down onto the rising hardness of his crotch.

She wants him to touch her everywhere. She wants to drown in his touch. She wants to feel safe for the first time since she fled Gristol on the _Dreadful Wale._

His hands slip lower, between her legs, and she’s so caught up in the rush that she forgets why this is a bad idea until she feels his finger trace over her scar. He jolts back from her like he’s been burned, and her stomach drops.

“It’s not—”

“Let me see.” His tone brooks no argument, and she lets him push her back on the bed, her cheeks blushing. Obediently she spreads her legs, showing the full extent of her modification.

“Byrne.” Corvo spits the name like a curse.

Emily bites her lip. “It was a ritual,” she says. “To help me against Delilah. And, I guess it worked?” She still isn’t planning to tell him about her encounter with Delilah’s vines. Shit, is her asshole as red and swollen as it feels? Can he see it?

“I’m going to kill him.”

“I let him,” Emily says. As briefly as she can, she tells him what happened. She leaves out the part about the tea. And perhaps makes it sound like she was more informed than she was. She can see Corvo’s mind turning, filling in the holes, but he doesn’t question her.

When she’s done, he’s silent for a moment. And then he stands up and walks out of the room.

Emily feels like her chest is being crushed. She wants to cry.

But then Corvo is back. He sets down a towel, a small folding knife, and a bottle of S&J Elixir on the table beside the bed.

It’s an offer and a challenge that Emily can’t resist. She looks up to meet Corvo’s steely gaze. Her throat is dry. “Do it,” she says, and spreads her legs again for him.

The cut is quick and clean, precise like everything Corvo does. Emily gasps, but her coping mechanisms are already in place, separating her mind from her body, slowing her breathing, working through the pain. Corvo presses the towel to the wound while Emily pops the cap on the elixir and downs it in one go. It’s bitter and metallic; Sokolov never paid any attention to her suggestions about improving the taste.

The elixir does its work, and the bleeding stops quickly. Corvo removes the towel and Emily immediately brings her fingers to her cunt. It feels strange, nothing but slightly puckered scar tissue where her clit and labia used to be. But sinking her finger into it feels so good, an indulgence to be treasured after so long without. She moans.

Corvo is still watching her. Emily spreads her legs wider, rolls her hips, makes a show out of adding a second finger beside the first. It’s too soon; the skin is still tender and the stretch is painful, but she doesn’t care. She fucks herself on her fingers, reaching for the spot with her that promises sensation, watching Corvo from nearly-closed eyes.

This time, he’s the one who moves carefully, giving her every chance to pull away. She doesn’t. He places his hands on her thighs and pushes her legs wider, and then leans down and brings his mouth to her cunt.

It’s not like when Wyman would eat her out. The scar tissue isn’t particularly sensitive. But Corvo plunges his tongue into her cunt, fucking her with it, and she can still feel it inside. Pleasure bubbles up in her veins.

She lies back and lets Corvo do what he wants, gasping and whimpering in appreciation at every touch. He’s firm but gentle, ever lick and flick of his tongue making her feel loved, cherished.

When he’s turned her into a squirming, writhing mess, teased to the edge of what she can endure, he sits up and rocks his hips, rubbing his still-clothed cock against her leg. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice barely more than a broken whisper.

“I want it,” Emily says immediately. “Fuck me, please, fuck me, I want it, I _need_ it…”

She hears the rustle of his pants coming off, and feels his firm hands on her thighs, manhandling her into position. And then the head of his cock is pressed against her cunt, feeling impossibly huge.

He pushes in slowly, letting her adjust to the burning stretch, giving her every chance to stop him. Instead, she rolls her hips down, trying to take him faster despite the pain. She doesn’t have words to describe the need clawing up inside her chest, the need to be filled and claimed.

When he’s fully seated inside of her, he pauses, panting. Emily whines and hooks her legs around his waist for leverage, riding his cock in small movements. Corvo catches the hint and begins to thrust, slowly at first but picking up speed as his own pleasure overwhelms him. The drag of his cock over the tender walls of Emily’s cunt makes her feel like she’s vibrating, like a guitar string being plucked. She can feel it, that spot inside that still makes her see stars, and she angles her hips so that Corvo hits it with each thrust. Pressure builds up in her body as Corvo pounds into her, faster and faster, until she feels like she’s about to burst with it.

Her hand drops automatically to where her clit would be, trying to finish herself off, but of course it’s futile. She whines in frustration and redoubles her efforts on Corvo’s cock, desperately seeking release.

Her orgasm comes like a champagne cork being popped. A release of pressure, and a fizzy feeling of pleasure spraying through her veins. She squeezes her thighs together and Corvo comes as well, groaning as his hot come christens her cunt.

She’s still floating, warm and blissed, when Corvo pulls out. She barely notices him wiping them both off with a damp cloth. Sleep tugs at her eyelids but she doesn’t succumb, not until Corvo crawls into bed beside her and pulls her into his arms.

It feels like a puzzle piece slotting into place. Like her world, turned upside down, is now spinning correctly on its axis. This is where she belongs. They have so much work to do, but this feels _right_.

Emily has never doubted that she can do anything with Corvo by her side.


End file.
